<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Hasty-Riser by StellaVesperis</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30099567">Hasty-Riser</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellaVesperis/pseuds/StellaVesperis'>StellaVesperis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fëanorian Week 2021 [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Fluff, Fëanor is a tired parent, Fëanorian Week 2021, Gen, which transitions fairly quickly into angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:48:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,195</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30099567</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellaVesperis/pseuds/StellaVesperis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyelkormo has a history of waking up early. He can't help it- it's in his name.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Celebrimbor | Telperinquar &amp; Celegorm | Turcafinwë, Celegorm | Turcafinwë &amp; Fëanor | Curufinwë, Celegorm | Turcafinwë &amp; Huan, Celegorm | Turcafinwë &amp; Maglor | Makalaurë</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fëanorian Week 2021 [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211360</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hasty-Riser</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompt-fill: childhood </p><p>Celegorm's mother-name was Tyelkormo, which means Hasty-Riser. I believe it was originally supposed to be an allusion to his temper, but, for the sake of this work, it has more to do with the fact that he wakes up early.</p><p>(Also, I've gotten very lazy when putting the correct markings over the letters but we all know they should be there).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The golden light of Laurelin had only just begun to graze the sky when Feanaro felt someone tugging on his hair.<br/>
<br/>
It was too early for this. Way too early. He’d been working late last night on designing a vessel that could support the light of the Trees, and he’d felt as though he’d only just slipped into sleep when the tugging had jolted him awake.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away.<br/>
<br/>
The tugging continued. “Atar!” A voice whispered at a volume that could hardly be classified as such. “Atar, wake up!”<br/>
<br/>
Sighing, he turned toward whatever little one had decided now was an appropriate time to be awake.<br/>
<br/>
“Good morning, Atar!” A child with a wide grin and silver-blond hair greeted him, almost right in his face.<br/>
<br/>
“Turco, if you need something, go ask your mother,” Feanaro muttered sleepily.<br/>
<br/>
“She’s busy,” Tyelkormo said dejectedly, and crawled up onto his father’s bed. “Anyway, <em>she </em>didn’t promise to teach me how to use a bow this morning.”<br/>
<br/>
He groaned internally. He really needed to stop making promises with his sons. Apparently they held fast to them. “We need to get you a mentor. Did you ask Nelyo to help you?”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” Tyelkormo frowned. “I want you to teach me. You and Amme only care about baby Carnistir now and I never get to see you.”<br/>
<br/>
The favoritism card. He knew that one all too well. “Give me five minutes.”<br/>
<br/>
Tyelkormo gave a squeal of excitement and leapt off the bed, his footsteps echoing out into the hall.<br/>
<br/>
<em>It’s Nerdanel’s fault, </em>he thinks as he pulls himself out of bed. <em>She named him Hasty-riser. </em><em><br/>
</em><em><br/>
</em> *   *  *<br/>
“Tyelpe,” he hissed, and seeing that Curufinwe’s child hadn’t stirred, went over to his bed to shake him awake. “Telperinquar, wake up.”<br/>
<br/>
The child yawned and rolled over, then, seeing his uncle, started grinning. “Morning, uncle Tyelko.”<br/>
<br/>
“Good morning,” Tyelkormo responded. “Do you still want to learn how to hunt with Huan and me?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes!” He sat up straight, beginning to bounce with excitement.<br/>
<br/>
“Get your boots on, and don’t wear anything flashy. And hurry: it’s almost the mingling of the lights. The good game will be gone if we don’t get there before daybreak.” He smiled at Tyelpe’s excitement as he rushed to get ready.<br/>
<br/>
Tyelkormo glanced out the window, catching the first glimmer of gold. Daybreak came later out here, and its light was never as bright. “Come on, Tyelpe,” he urged, and snatched his nephew even as he was pulling his shirt on. It probably didn’t matter- Tyelpe would be loud enough to scare everything away- but if he was going to teach him, he was going to do it right.<br/>
<br/>
“Now,” he began as he led his nephew out of Formenos and into the wilds. “The first thing you should keep in mind is…”<br/>
<br/>
* * * </p><p>After they arrived in Beleriand, he still woke up before the sun, only for different reasons. There was much to do, much to accomplish, so many preparations…<br/>
<br/>
Hunting wasn’t just for pleasure anymore.<br/>
<br/>
He dropped the game with the Ambarussar, who were awake often enough at this hour alongside him, and headed for his oldest brother’s tent.<br/>
<br/>
“Makalaure.” He didn’t bother with the pleasantries anymore. “Wake up.”<br/>
<br/>
Makalaure, however, was already awake, sitting at his table and staring at the circular object on it. Tyelkormo felt his throat tighten when he realized it was the crown. Makalaure didn’t move his gaze from it, his eyes unseeing.<br/>
<br/>
“Makalaure.” It was softer this time, but still firm. “Come on. We have work to do.”<br/>
<br/>
His brother finally tore his eyes from the crown and looked up. “I know.”<br/>
<br/>
“We need you.”<br/>
<br/>
He slowly pushed his chair back from the table and walked to the exit of the tent. There were so many things to be said, and yet, nothing at all. “Thank you for hunting this morning,” he said bleakly on his way out, his mind still elsewhere.<br/>
<br/>
Tyelkormo knew that it must be turned toward Angband. </p><p> </p><p>* * * </p><p>Maitimo was alive.<br/>
<br/>
Findekano had brought him to their camp, saying they’d been borne there by an eagle, but Tyelkormo was quite certain he was beyond exhaustion at that point and seeing things.<br/>
<br/>
How they came to be here didn’t matter right now, anyway.<br/>
<br/>
Maitimo was asleep for days. Every single one of those days felt like an eternity. Tyelkormo was at his bedside every opportunity he had, praying for the first time in Eru-knows-when. It was one silent plea, over and over again.<br/>
<br/>
<em> Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em>It had felt like he never would. </p><p><br/>
* * *</p><p>When Huan left, he found little reason to be awake early. He’d been half the joy of hunting, half the joy of the morning, and now he was gone. If they were desperate for food, he could send someone else out for it.<br/>
<br/>
When that thought burned, Celegorm went to the woods in the evenings and shot targets until his arms were sore. By that time, it was well past midnight, and there was no point in waking up early the next morning.<br/>
<br/>
* * *<br/>
It was morning by the time the fighting finally stopped in Doriath.<br/>
<br/>
It had pulled away- the Oath had pulled away- the Silmaril, it wasn’t here anymore-<br/>
<br/>
Maglor numbly sheathed his sword, looking at the scene around him.<br/>
<br/>
Celegorm’s men were saying something to Maedhros about children, about something that wasn’t important enough to think about right now. But Maedhros needed a distraction. He was good at that, carrying on business as normal, even when everything was falling to pieces.<br/>
<br/>
He did that when Fingon died. He did the same thing now.<br/>
<br/>
He marched off.<br/>
<br/>
Maglor set out to find his remaining brothers.<br/>
<br/>
The twins were in the next chamber over, sitting close together along with several of their men.<br/>
<br/>
“Have you found the others yet?” He asked, but he already knew the answer based on their body language.<br/>
<br/>
“Curufin and Caranthir,” Amrod said. The way he’d said it- no, he still had to ask-<br/>
<br/>
“Alive?”<br/>
<br/>
Amras slowly shook his head, and leaned into his twin.<br/>
<br/>
“Curvo was wounded. One of Dior’s men.” Amrod was cleaning his sword. “He killed Dior.”<br/>
<br/>
“Moryo was shot,” Amras said quietly.<br/>
<br/>
Maglor forced himself to swallow as he felt his strength drain from him. Two of his little brothers- they were gone- stolen from his protection. And where did they go? Where were they? That Oath- that damned Oath- said if they didn’t fulfill it, they’d be Void-bound.<br/>
<br/>
He sank to his knees under the realization that Curufin and Caranthir were very likely in the Void right now.<br/>
<br/>
Amras rushed forward and caught his brother. Maglor held him close. “We’re going to get them,” Maglor whispered. “We’re going to fulfill the Oath. We’re going to get them back.”<br/>
<br/>
They stood there for a while, Amrod as well, taking solace in the fact that they three, at least, were safe.<br/>
<br/>
“Celegorm?” He asked finally.<br/>
<br/>
“We haven’t found him yet,” Amrod said.<br/>
<br/>
Maglor took the hands of his last younger brothers. “Let’s go look.”<br/>
<br/>
(If it hadn’t been for the wounds left by Dior’s sword, he would have looked like he was sleeping).</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Any feedback is appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>